one another before, and that therefore he might impute it to chance, or, if he pleased, to Providence.

He urged upon us, that an insurrection had been lately made by armed men, who pretended to be more religious than others; that that insurrection had been plotted and contrived in their meeting-house, where they assembled under colour of worshipping God; that in their meeting-house they hid their arms, and armed themselves; and out of their meeting-house issued forth in arms, and killed many, so that the government could not be safe, unless such meetings were suppressed.

We replied, we hoped he would distinguish and make a difference between the guilty and the innocent, and between those who were principled for fighting, and those who were principled against it, which we were, and had been always known to be so. That our meetings were public, our doors standing open to all comers of all ages, sexes and persuasions, men, women and children, and those that were not of our religion, as well as those that were; and that it was next to madness, for people to plot in such meetings.

He told us we must find sureties for our good behaviour, and to answer our contempt of the king's proclamation, at the next general quarter-sessions, or else he must commit us.

We told him, that knowing our innocency, and that we had not misbehaved ourselves, nor did meet in contempt of the king's authority,

but purely in obedience to the Lord's requirings, to worship him; which we held ourselves in duty bound to do: we could not consent to be bound, for that would imply guilt, which we were free from.

Then, said he, I must commit you; and ordered his clerk to make a mittimus. And divers mittimusses were made, but none of them would hold; for still, when they came to be read, we found such flaws in them, as made him throw them aside, and write more.

He had his eye often upon me; for I was a young man, and had at that time a black suit on. At length he bid me follow him, and went into a private room, and shut the door upon

me.

I knew not what he meant by this; but I cryed in spirit to the Lord, that he would be pleased to be a mouth and wisdom to me, and keep me from being entangled in any snare.

He asked me many questions, concerning my birth, my education, my acquaintance in Oxfordshire; particularly what men of note I knew there. To all which I gave him brief, but plain and true answers; naming several families of the best rank, in that part of the country where I dwelt.

He asked me how long I had been of this way, and how I came to be of it; which when I had given him some account of, he began to persuade me to leave it, and return to the right way, the church, as he called it. I desired him to spare his pains in that respect, and forbear

any discourse of that kind; for that I was fully satisfied the way I was in was the right way; and hoped the Lord would so preserve me in it, that nothing should be able to draw, or drive me out of it. He seemed not pleased with that; and thereupon went out to the rest of the company, and I followed him, glad in my heart that I had escaped so well, and praising God for my deliverance.

When he had taken his seat again, at the upper end of a fair hall, he told us he was not willing to take the utmost rigour of the law against us, but would be as favourable to us as he could. And therefore he would discharge, he said, Mr. Penington himself, because he was but at home in his own house. And he would discharge Mr. Penington of London, because he come but as a relation, to visit his brother. And he would discharge the grocer of Colchester, because he came to bear Mr. Penington of London company, and to be acquainted with Mr. Isaac Penington, whom he had never seen before. And as for those others of us, who were of this country, he would discharge them for the present at least, because they being his neighbours, he could send for them when he would. But as for you, said he to George Whitehead and me, I can see no business you had there, and therefore I intend to hold you to it, either to give bail or go to gaol.

We told him we could not give bail; then said he, you must go to gaol, and thereupon

he began to write our mittimus, which puzzled him again. For he had discharged so many, that he was at a loss what to lay, as the ground of our commitment, whose case differed nothing in reality from theirs whom he had discharged.

At length, having made divers draughts, which still G. Whitehead shewed him the defects of, he seemed to be weary of us, and rising up, said unto us, I consider that it is grown late in the day, so that the officer cannot carry you to Alesbury to night, and I suppose you will be willing to go back with Mr. Penington; therefore, if you will promise to be forth-coming at his house to-morrow morning, I will dismiss you for the present, and you shall hear from me again to-morrow.

We told him we did intend, if he did not otherwise dispose of us, to spend that night with our friend Isaac Penington, and would, if the Lord gave us leave, be there in the morning, ready to answer his requirings. Whereupon he dismissed us all, willing, as we thought, to be rid of us, for he seemed not to be of an ill-temper, nor desirous to put us to trouble, if he could help it.

Back then we went to Isaac Penington's. But when we were come thither, O, the work we had with poor John Ovy! John Ovy! He was so dejected in mind, so covered with shame and confusion of face, for his cowardliness, that we had enough to do to pacify him towards himself.

The place he had found out to shelter him. self in, was so commodiously contrived, that undiscovered he could discern when the soldiers went off with us, and understand when the bustle was over, and the coast clear. Whereupon he adventured to peep out of his hole, and in a while drew near, by degrees, to the house again, and finding all things quiet and still, head ventured to step within the doors, and found the Friends who were left behind, peaceably settled in the meeting again.

The sight of this smote him, and made him sit down among them. And after the meeting was ended, and the Friends departed to their several homes; addressing himself to Mary Penington, as the mistress of the house, he could not enough magnify the bravery and courage of the friends; nor sufficiently debase himself. He told her how long he had been a professor, what pains he had taken, what hazards he had run, in his youthful days, to get to meetings; how, when the ways were fore-laid, and passages stopped, he swam through rivers to reach a meeting; and now, said he, that I am grown old in the professions of religion, and have long been an instructor and encourager of others; that I should thus shamefully fall short myself, is matter of shame and

sorrow to me.

and

Thus he bewailed himself to her; when we came back, he renewed complaints of himself to us, with high aggravations of his own cowardice: which gave occasion to